Fur
by Mnemosyne Saga
Summary: A year before Voldemort's death a strange toddler is found by Death Eaters sitting on the lawn between numbers 11 and 13 on Grimmauld Place. Nine years later those in Hogwarts learn the ramifications of a child who was "raised by wolves"
1. Prologue

Fur

Prologue

The only thing Christine knew for sure was that there was something very wrong with her daughter.

It started when little Angie was eighteen months old. Christine walked into the nursery to find her cherub faced daughter in her pink care-bear onesie sitting on the ceiling, meticulously dropping blocks on the cat below.

Christine had screamed and snatched her child from over her head and run with her out of the room, heart and mind racing. She floundered for an explanation but each time came up blank. A week later, just as she had nearly convinced herself that she'd imagine the whole ceiling incident things simply got stranger.

Christine left her daughter in the nursery as she went to get them both snacks. When she returned she found every toy in her daughter's room, cards, barbies, blocks, plastic horses, and stuffed animals swirling around the laughing baby in a vortex. Christine's stomach churned as her mind called up every horror movie she'd ever seen _Poltergeis_t, _Ammityville Horror_, even (god forbid) _the Exorcist_. She fought her way through the circling toys to her daughter, swatting at floating playing cards and my little ponies. She choked back panic as she grabbed her child and sprinted from the house, trailing a procession of floating stuffed animals like a macabre Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Whenever she looked at Angie, all Christine could think of was the devil. She did the only thing a God fearing catholic could do when faced with sure demonic possession, she drove to the church.

She faced the priest's skeptical look as she described the previous instances of Angie's possession. The priest inhaled deeply preparing to launch into a prepared speech about sleep deprivation and its effects on a mother's psyche when baby Angela touched the baptismal fount and it promptly burst into flames.

The fear she felt during the exorcism quickly abated when Angie seemed to go back to normal. Nothing flew around. Nothing hovered. Everything had calmed down and life had moved on, until a week before Angie's second birthday. It was a full moon. Christine heard an odd yipping noise over the baby monitor and immediately rushed to her baby's room.

In the bed, wearing her daughter's pink care bears footie-pajamas was a little red fox kit, paws resting on the top bar of the crib. Christine let out a high terrified squeal that quickly became a panicked whine. As she watched, the fox's large ears shrank and the little kit transformed into the curly headed Angie.

That night Christine wrote a letter to the man she hadn't seen since before Angie's birth.

. . .

It was August 3rd, Angie's second birthday when her mother when her mother packed her little backpack with enough pink dresses and underwear for a week, Angie's favorite stuffed bear, and a book for the road. Christine fought back tears as she safety pinned a letter to the girl's father and his address to the front of her little pink sweater.

"Where are we going Mommy?" Angie's tiny voice asked as she leveled her wise dark eyed stare on her mother.

"You get to go see your Daddy, sweetheart." Christine's voice cracking as tears once again threatened her composure.

"Why are you so sad?" A worried look crossed Angie's face.

Christine mumbled something about having to work as the reason she couldn't go. She didn't like lying to Angela but every time she looked at her daughter her stomach clenched in a mixture of sadness and fear. Sadness at what was to come and fear of the little girl sitting beside her on the bus, the little girl who grew more odd everyday, who was spinning wildly out of control. A mother can't live in fear of her own daughter.

She walked Angela to the ticket counter.

"I'd like a one-way ticket to London, please." Christine said laying her credit card on the counter.

The cashier smiled the practiced smile of the truly unhappy in their work and picked up her card. "Certainly Ms. Martinez, and the ticket is for you?"

"Oh no, it's for my daughter, Angela."

Ten minutes later Christine planted a kiss on her daughter's forehead, straightened the letter pinned to her front, handed her her ticket, and sent her through security. As the little girl tottled away from her she finally allowed the tears to come. Christine knew it wasn't right, sending her daughter away like she was. She simply couldn't do it any longer. She couldn't live in fear. She couldn't worry about her daughter showing up on the ceiling, or scaring other children, or turning into an animal. Despite the fact that she felt fully justified in holding Angie's father accountable she couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was going to happen.

At the edge of security Angie turned around and gave a little wave.

Christine couldn't take it any longer, and she broke into a run toward the door as a final sob raked her body.

Angie blinked at the space that, until recently, her mother had occupied. Then she turned and handed her ticket to the security man.

"Well, hello little one. Where are you headed to?" he reached down to look at the letter pinned to her chest. On it in her mother's handwriting was written 12 Grimmauld Place, London. He looked her in the eye, "you have quite a long way to go."

He returned the ticket, on it was Angie's full name, Angela Artemis Black.


	2. Chapter 1: Baby Post

Chapter 1: Baby Post

Rowle tugged at the collar of his new woolen sweater. He hated muggle clothes. Despite the thorough washing they always felt dirty and prickly as though the feeling of hatred was mutual. The Grimmauld Place watches were hot, long and annoying. The Dark Lord had been posting Death Eaters outside the place for weeks and all they'd gotten was a glimpse of what might have been an elbow.

He smoothed his blond hair and walked to the corner to meet his stakeout buddy. There was a muffled crack from up the street and Fenrir Greyback strode out of the alleyway between two buildings. Fenrir was impressively built, tall and broad shouldered and unlike Rowle, who was wearing a thick woolen sweater during a heat wave, had managed to dress appropriately muggle in dark jeans, a grey T-shirt and boots.

"I like the haircut," Rowle said as Greyback approached and absentmindedly ran his hand through his new shorter greyish brown hair.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I thought it would make us less conspicuous. After that muggle asked if we were cult members I thought we might be more effective if we blended in better." Greyback shot a glance at Rowle as they walked around the corner of Grimmauld Place. "Speaking of conspicuous, you look insane Rowle. It's hot out and you're in a sweater and rain boots."

Rowle looked down at his outfit self-consciously, "It was the only thing that would fit. It's not my fault that muggle family we killed was full of short people." Fenrir let out a bark-like laugh and Rowle shot him a nasty look. "Besides, I even washed it and it still feels dirty. Muggles are disgusting."

Fenrir arched an eyebrow, "well, I'm sure it'd be much more sanitary if you just bought the clothes instead of stealing them from dead people." Fenrir smirked and put on a pair of darkly tinted spectacles.

"What are those?" Rowle asked quizzically.

"The Muggles call them 'Sunglasses'" Greyback beamed.

"They make you look like a prat."

Fenrir pushed the sunglasses down his nose, "I'm not the one in yellow wellies. Besides, I think they look cool."

"I still think you look like a prat," muttered Rowle, glowering at his rain boots as they walked.

Fenrir swatted Rowle in the chest, "Look at this."

He finally tore his eyes from his shoes and looked at the patch of lawn between numbers 11 and 13. Sitting in the grass stifling little hiccupy sobs with the contents of a zip lock baggy full of cheese crackers was a toddler. She was cherub faced with little halo of curly black hair, clearly pinned to her fluffy pink sweater was large white rectangle.

Fenrir hopped the fence surrounding number 12's little yard and jogged up to the little girl. A moment of panic punched Rowle in the gut when Greyback crouched down in front of the girl obscuring her from view. Rowle looked up and down the street adrenaline lighting his veins as his mind spun through what would happen if Greyback's legendary brutal nature reared its ugly head. The knot in his stomach relaxed as he watched Greyback straighten up and wipe away the big pearly tears on the little girls round cheeks.

Fenrir grinned, "look what I found Rowle. It's a baby addressed to Sirius Black." He reach up and pinched the kid's cheek. "And isn't it the cutest little baby ever?"

Rowle looked and the envelope pinned to the kid's sweater, "I think 'it's a she, Fen. You know all the pink kinda gives it away."

Fenrir shot Rowle a menacing look, "The Dark Lord said to report back when we found anything. I'd say we found something. You stay here and watch for signs of Potter or that Mudblood he's with and I'll go see what the Dark Lord thinks of our little visiter."

Rowle moaned, "but I don't want to stay here. It's hot and these clothes are itchy. You look more muggle anyway . . ." but he didn't finish the sentence when he saw the look in Greyback's eyes. Rowle immediately backpedaled, "not MUGGLE exactly, I mean you're clearly a wizard, I just meant that you blend in better," said Rowle, "like a super spy or something."

Greyback just watched Rowle cringe under his withering gaze, "finders, keepers," he answered and pointed to the spot on the fence they'd called home for the last week.

Rowle slouched over the the fence of number 12 and Fenrir strode away from him little girl in one hand, and pink backpack in the other.

"What's your name little one?" he asked, softening his voice as much as he could so as not to scare the girl.

The small child turned large dark eyes up to his face. He couldn't help but feel like there was something off about them, as though she could see through him to the scared little boy who'd been attacked by a werewolf forty years ago. It made him uncomfortable.

"Angie," said the tiny voice.


	3. Chapter 2: The Snake, The Wolf, and Fox

Chapter 2: The Snake, the Wolf, and the Fox

Fenrir Greyback apparated a block from the Malfoy manor. Like most wizarding homes it was nestled in a muggle neighborhood, albeit a neighborhood that had acres of perfectly manicured, stately gardens and land as opposed to yards. As he walked up to the manor gates he passed several confunded muggle neighbors and day laborers who waved at him, vapid expressions on their faces. He almost felt sorry for them, lesser creatures that they were. They lived their whole lives in some fuzzy state or another brought on by their magical neighbors.

He looked at the sky. The casual (aka. Muggle) observer might not notice but the mile around the Malfoy manor was always overcast, the sheer amount of dark magic the manor housed these days was affecting the weather. He sighed as he passed from sunlight to shade on his approach to the wrought iron gate that turned the death eaters' headquarters into an isolated compound.

He raised a hand to the iron as though in greeting and to his surprise it swung open with a surly mutter, "bloody dogs always late to meetings." Fenrir shifted Angie from one arm to the other and she gave the gate a reproachful look. He strode toward the house between imposing shrubberies. Angie's large dark eyes took in her surroundings, the large dark bushes, the nearly white gravel drive, the massive white peacocks, and the blue-grey stone mansion that loomed over the scene. She absorbed them like a film strip. Fen finally approached the manor door and found that the girl in his arms had stilled, locked in deep concentration, staring at a large eagle owl perched over the front doors.

Her tiny finger punched the air as she pointed at the owl, looked at Greyback, and said "bird?"

"Yes," he answered, smiling. "That's an owl. Can you say owl?"

"Owl," she answered matter-of-factly, little brow furrowing as she wrapped her mouth around the new word. Fenrir nodded. He could get used to this, he thought, this kind of teaching again. He always liked kids and it'd been a while since his family had had young children. As he opened the door and crossed the chilly threshold he chuckled to himself, even his innocent thoughts sounded disturbing.

All the albino faces in every portrait that lined the entrance hall turned to look at him, and they all sneered at him with a look of cool superiority and derision, a look that Fenrir had thought Lucius had perfected until he saw the Malfoy entrance hall. Turns out a glower like that is a matter of heritage. The hall filled with echoing sniffs of loathing as Fenrir walked past the portraits.

Angie's little curly head peaked over Greyback's shoulder and leveled a blood freezing glare at the paintings and firmly told them off with an "honor is lessened by rudeness," an adage that sounded like it was told to her after an incident of bad manners.

The Death Eaters sat at a long table in the formal dining hall, black robed figures whose faces held a mixture of smugness and suppressed fear. At the head of the table sat their Master and a massive snake that had draped itself over the back of his chair. The Dark Lord turned his serpent featured face to Greyback, cold eyes sliding over the child in his arms and his muggle garb. Fenrir convulsively pulled the little girl closer to his chest as though that would protect her from the creature whose red eyes now bored into them.

The Dark Lord's arctic voice filled the room, "I was under the impression that I had asked you to watch the Order headquarters for signs of Potter."

"You did, my lord."

"Then what, pray tell," he laughed icily, "are you doing here?"

Greyback dipped his head in the typical sign on reverence, he carefully arranged his features into a detached mask before answering. "I left Rowle to stand guard. We thought you would want to see this." He gently placed her on the table so that she stood facing the Dark Lord. "This child was in the Order's yard, she's addressed to Sirius Black."

Without shifting his gaze from the girl standing on his table, the Dark Lord said sharply, "Bella, it appears that your family tree has become so wild in its unattended state that new rogue sprigs keep popping up. I believe I told you to do some pruning." At this the snake on his chair raised its shovel sized head and let out a menacing hiss. Angie's little brow furrowed and she once more pulled up the blood freezing glare she'd leveled on the entrance hall portraits a moment before. As Bellatrix rose and drew her wand, the child stamped her pink patent-leather clad foot and hissed right back at the snake with equal venom.

Both the snake and the Dark Lord looked shocked. Angie turned to Greyback and told him, "Snake has NO manners. Its mommy should be ashamed!" Bellatrix stared from the little girl to her Master and back in awe.

"What did it say?" she asked, breathless.

The Dark Lord smirked, apparently deciding that this new ability was good news. "Nagini said that she very much looked forward to eating the half-blood babe, its flesh is softer than her normal adult diet. The little girl said that just because Nagini's mother had failed to teach her how to welcome a guest wasn't going to stop her beating the lesson in."

At this the child pulled off her sweater and carefully removed her patent-leather shoes then turned to face the snake once more. She wrinkled her face in concentration and then, in full view of the Dark Lord and his inner circle, her body changed. Her hands and feet turned into tiny paws, her arms became spindly fur covered legs. Soon a little fox kit was wriggling out of its pink dress. Once free of the garment it trotted up the table toward the Dark Lord. The kit barred its tiny pointed teeth and growled. It pounced and while it was suspended in air, mid-jump, the kit sprouted wings and feathers and was suddenly the great eagle owl that had perched over the door to Malfoy Manor. It swooped at the snake, grabbling the shovel shaped head in its claws and slamming the snake's head into the table with a whump. The Dark Lord flicked his wand sending the owl skittering across the length of the table before the shocked and frightened eyes of his followers.

He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes and resting his chin on his steepled fingers. "Interesting," he murmured as the owl gained its feet once more and prepared another attack on the snake. The Dark Lord gave it an amused smirk. "Now look who's being rude. The first time I'm prepared to forgive as the result of a fiery Black temper. A second attack will not be so easily forgiven little one." His gaze swept the table. "We must ensure that our children are raised properly, little useful skills, like this one," he said gesturing to the Owl, who'd hopped over to its sweater and shoes and was attempting to put the latter on its taloned feet, "must be cultivated, and possessors of these skills must learn to follow the right masters."

Greyback shifted uncomfortably and raised his hand. He looked for all the world like a child called into the principles office. "I'd be happy to take her," he said as nonchalantly as he could. The Dark Lord looked him in the eye for the first time. The Dark Lord had looked at him before, his gaze had bored into him as though judging the wolf's worth but never had the Dark Lord actually met his gaze. Or on second thought, maybe it was Fenrir who'd always avoided meeting the Dark Lord's gaze.

"What makes you think I'd allow that to happen? When she has so many blood relations here?" rang out the cold voice.

Greyback inhaled slowly, gathering himself and mentally preparing for the Dark Lord's wrath. "I was promised sovereignty over all two natured. It was a condition of my cooperation with your regime. She may be a Black and she may be a witch but she is two natured and that makes her mine."

The Dark Lord cocked his head as though staring at a beloved pet that had suddenly gotten up on its hind legs and danced the polka. Greyback's stomach roiled as he waited for the Dark Lord's reaction. He knew that there were only three options. He'd either walk out with the little girl, crawl out without her, or get dumped in a shallow grave hidden somewhere in the ornate shrubs. The tension around the table was almost tangible as moments of silence stretched into several minutes.

Finally the Dark Lord spoke, "You can be her primary guardian as per our agreement but I don't think you can have complete control in this case. With so many of her cousins in my inner circle, her upbringing will be overseen by her family." He gave a dismissive wave. "That will be all."

Fenrir let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and looked down at the table. A stark naked toddler had replaced the giant owl. She was staring, mystified, at the buttons on her dress. Her little brow wrinkled as she tried to pull her little dress on without unfastening the elusive buttons. He chuckled and helped her into her clothes, pocketing the letter that had been pinned to her sweater as he did. He'd read it later, maybe it would help him understand what kind of woman would just send a perfect little girl, like the one whose buttons he was now fastening, away.

He gathered up the little girl and the rest of her things and left the room at as brisk a walk as he could manage without breaking into a run. He looked Angie in eye, "You ready to go home?"

She looked up and nodded, "Mommy said I was going to see my Dad. Are we going to see my Dad?"

He smiled at her, "I am your Dad." Angie's face split into a grin that lit her face like a candle. "I knew it," she said and she wrapped her little arms around his neck in a hug.

Fenrir felt the letter in his pocket like a weight. He considered for a moment telling her the truth but what good would it do. Her father was dead, her mother might as well be dead too for all the good she'd done. As far as he was concerned she was a Greyback now, and he planned on making sure every "cousin" the Dark Lord sent to check on her knew it too.


	4. Chapter 3: The Wolves of Frostmoore

Chapter 3: The Wolves of Frostmoore Heath

Rafe Canagan splayed his fingers across the table, carefully examining the maps of London and its surrounding townships he'd laid out. Rafe was a big man at six foot three. He had broad shoulders and the lean muscles that came from hardship and street fights. He pushed his hand through his greying ash-brown hair. He still remembered his first grey hair. Fenrir had laughed when a seventeen year old Rafe had looked in the mirror and screamed at his greying temples. He and Fen had shared a flat in London at the time.

Thinking back on it there hadn't been a time in his life he hadn't been within shouting distance of Fen. They'd lived next door to each other as children. He'd been turned by Fen at six on Fen's first full moon. Rafe would never forget the night he'd snuck out of his bedroom window to visit his best friend who'd been mauled by what he'd described as a bear dog. He'd been just in time to see the moon rise and watch his best friend turn into a wild animal. The creature had sunk its teeth into his thigh then looked him right in the eye and run away. Rafe had passed out from blood loss. He'd been woken the next morning by a ragged and bloody Fenrir who'd told him to pack a bag. As far as Rafe was concerned they'd been on the run ever since.

He looked back at the map, covered in blue and red dots. The blue were for the packs or lone wolves that were aligned with he and Fen. The red were targets.

Fen had started picking targets after he and Fen lost their jobs and were thrown out of both their flat and a pub for being werewolves and to top it all off The Daily Prophet reported the death of werewolf at the hands of an auror. The were's family had been kicked out of their home for being unable to pay the bills and the auror had gotten a bonus and a medal, the Order of Merlin Third Class.

Fen had been so angry at the injustice of it. In their roaming years they'd seen hundreds of weres. All living in squalor, all pissed on by society. Rafe was shamed remembering how he'd thought that was okay. He'd just accepted it as part of being were. Fen hadn't. He'd first broached the topic of targeted attacks with Rafe over a beer in a little were shanty town in the woods outside of Devon when they were twenty.

Firelight had danced over the scars on his face making his features even harder than usual. "I'm tired of being fired from jobs I'm qualified for. I'm tired of being kicked out of restaurants, tired of having shopkeepers refuse to sell me anything even though my gold is just as good as anyone else's. I'm tired of the scars on my face and hands marking me as a traitor to society instead of as the warrior I am. And so long as we keep putting up with this bullshit, so long as we keep living like this, fighting each other, nothing will change. You know the French muggles used to live like this. The rich kept kicking the poor down and shitting on them." Rafe had looked at Fen and seen the manic flinty spark in his eyes. Fen had always talked a big game but he'd never known Fen to act on his plans. Rafe could tell this was different. Fen continued growing louder so that he could be better understood by the crowd he was drawing. "You know what those muggles did? They rose up against the oppressors, they rose up against those who said they weren't worth anything. They chopped those 'superior' motherfuckers heads off and danced in their blood. They made a new world out of the old that wouldn't have them. I think it's time we did something. If muggles can do it without magic and without second forms, we can do it."

The crowd he had gathered cheered. He leaned over Rafe and whispered, "It's time to pick sides mate. I'm not as smart as you, I can't do this on my own. Are you with me brother?" Rafe had grasped Fen's proffered hand and stood. He knew where this was going. Until this point they hadn't done anything illegal. He thought of the auror who was this very second eating a full meal in his warm house with his warm family, while the wife and children of the man, not beast, man he'd killed starved in the cold just like all the weres who had now gathered around them. These self important wizards had to pay. He nodded to Fen.

Fen smiled and continued, "Our oppressors are trapped in their human skins and because they fear what they've trapped within, they fear us. Why? Because WE ARE FREE. They try to chain us to poverty, to hunger, to squalor because they are trapped in their fear and their hatred. I have a message to them. I, Fenrir Greyback, am coming for you. I will not take this lying down anymore. We may be few now but as you know our 'condition,' as you call it, leaves room for aggressive expansion. You may be happy kicking us down now but it only takes a scratch and you'll be sleeping in the bed you made." The crowd roared, fists punching the air. "I think it's time we united. We are wolves. That makes us brothers. That makes us pack. I think it's time we grew our family and I know where I'm starting. I'm starting with the wolf-slaughtering auror and we'll see how ready he is to kill weres when his wife and children are moon called." The crowd had roared its approval but the next morning they'd dispersed. Rafe had understood why. Fen wasn't the first to make barrel fireside speeches but nothing had come of them before and the weres of the shanty town weren't expecting results.

Their first pack had united behind its new leaders when photos of Fen and Rafe surfaced in wanted posters and a "brutal" werewolf attack on the family of the wolf killing auror was reported in the Daily Prophet. Hundreds of targets and countless power struggles later, Rafe stood in a house he owned, surveying maps of the United Packs of the British Isles all of whom answered to him, and surrounded by his three sons.

His marriage to Tasha, was what stopped him taking targets. Vengeance was a powerful thing and he'd dealt enough of it to know that if he continued the attacks with Fen, he was putting his wife and any future child in danger. So he'd stepped back. He'd focused more on Were internal affairs. While Fen started taking targets from the Dark Lord and growing increasingly violent with his consumption of human flesh, Rafe worked on bringing more packs under their centralized control. In that respect, Fen's imprisonment in Azkaban had been the best thing to happen to the packs.

Rafe felt shame creep up his face at this thought. It was true, he knew it. Fen was a loose cannon and controlling the packs had been easier without him. His imprisonment had allowed for the return of cooler-headed wolves to the packs, men like Marcus Connor and, for a time, Remus Lupin had been incredibly helpful in improving public opinion and distancing weres from Fen's legacy of violence. Rafe shook his head, Fen had been his brother when their own families had run them out of town. Even then Fen had been an "all or nothing" man and now that he had returned from Azkaban, more vicious than before, it was up to Rafe to shape and direct his rage.

As though summoned by these thoughts, Fenrir Greyback threw the farmhouse door open. To Rafe's shock, he was carrying a small toddler. Rafe's gut clenched. A child that young was too young to be moon called, the transformation would kill her.

"Fen, I don't know where you got that child but you should put her back. I'm sure her parents are probably worried sick." His tone was soft like a parent coaxing a petulant five year old but under the soft guise a cold steely strength permeated his words.

Fenrir laughed, "Her parents are dead. And you worry too much. This isn't what it looks like, I promise. I found her on guard duty today and the Dark Lord said I can keep her."

Rafe inhaled deeply, focusing on his breath as a way to calm the rage that was now clawing at his insides. "Fen, This girl is not a stray puppy and the Dark Lord isn't really knowledgeable on the finer points of being were. That child is too young. If she even gets a scratch from one of us, the shift will kill her."

At this Fen's smile broadened even more. "Oh ho. Watch this Rafe, then tell me this girl is a bad idea." He gently put the little girl down and crouched to her level so that it was absolutely clear that he was addressing her. "Now sweetheart, can you put your fox skin on so that dear Uncle Rafe can see how special you are?" he said coaxingly. The little girl beamed and turned to Rafe smiling.

To his surprise, she dropped to all fours as a fox still wearing her little dress, sweater and shoes. Fen pulled an envelope out of back pocket and tossed it to Rafe who read the front. "Trust me, no one's coming looking for this kid," said Fenrir gravely.

Rafe crouched down in front of the fox kit, gently scratching it behind the ears. He gingerly picked the fox up and turned once more to Fenrir. "Is this the only other form she takes?"

"No," Fen answered, "I saw her take the shape of an eagle owl like the Malfoy's too. I think she can be any species she's either seen or come in contact with before." Rafe's brow furrowed, "Can she shift based on pictures?"

"I dunno haven't tried it yet." Fen poured himself a fire whiskey and walked over the children's picture books scattered across the sofa. He picked up one book filled with photographs of wild animals and walked back over to Rafe who set the fox on top of maps that covered the table. The two men leafed through the book quietly arguing animal choices until they saw a pair of crystal blue eyes blinking up out of a snow white face. It was a beautiful picture of an arctic wolf. On the table the fox was once again a little girl and she was waiting patiently while the two grown men tittered over animal photos like schoolgirls.

Finally Fen turned the picture of the arctic wolf to her. "Can you show us this? It's called a wolf." The little girl picked up the picture, looking at it curiously. The arctic wolf ran about in the frame before turning to the camera and blinking slowly. She pulled off her sweater and slid off her shoes. Then she scrunched up her face in concentration. Within a few seconds a snowy white wolf pup was wriggling out of its little pink dress on the table.

A slow smile spread across Rafe's face, "Well I'll be damned." Rafe's mind spun possibilities. The two-natured movement could have a face. Someone who could take and animal form but without the danger of infecting others. They could have a spokesperson unsoiled by the brush of the curse. She would be able to interact with wizards without prejudice. This could be a new beginning.

Fen suddenly became very interested in his glass of fire whiskey and muttered, "some other death eaters will probably be dropping in occasionally to check up on her." Any joy that Rafe had felt at the arrival of this interesting new pack member curled up and died at the mention of Death Eaters entering their home. When he'd bought this farm he'd protected it with the Fidelius Charm as the secret keeper and upon Fenrir's return from Azkaban the Charm had been recast to include him as a second secret keeper.

A chill flushed through Rafe's veins, "Fen, you didn't."

Fenrir's expression flashed from shame to anger, "I had to! The Dark Lord made me tell him and the Lestrange's about our farm." Rafe buried his face in his hands, elbows on the table. He could feel the steady throb of a headache build behind his left eye. For fourteen years he'd kept this farm safe, slowly growing the pack into a full sustainable community. For fourteen years no wizard had crossed the property line of the forty acre Frostmoore farm and within two years of Fenrir's return the three most violent and dangerous witches and wizards alive had been given an engraved invitation to enter at will. Fenrir quietly slipped a small piece of paper between his elbows, "The next batch of targets the Dark Lord wants attacked at the next full moon."

Anger flashed through Rafe like lightning and he slammed his fists to the table, "My farm, Fen. Frostmoore is MY farm. I earned the money for the land. I rallied the pack. I built the house myself. I brought the packs together. I put the necessary protections in place. I made it a safe haven for the were's of the Isles. YOU were in Azkaban and since you've been back the aurors have been following my pack members around and harassing them and you've given the enemy clearance to enter MY home. You are my brother, Fenrir, but things have changed since the First War. You are not my better."

Fenrir's first reaction was overwhelming rage but it was quickly crushed by shame. "I'm sorry, brother. I've invaded your home and simply expected you to step aside. You've become your own man in our time apart but you must understand I owe the Dark Lord for getting me out of Azkaban. It is an honor debt I cannot, in good conscience, ignore." He rested his hands on Rafe's shoulders. "I promise that I'll take whatever repercussions there are for my actions. I'll be out of your hair soon anyway. The Dark Lord has put me in charge of rounding up muggle-borns and blood traitors once the Ministry falls."

Rafe had turned once more to the maps, meticulously marking the homes of those on the Dark Lord's list with little red dots. "The muggle-borns are our target group, their hard to get while young but the wizarding world shits on them almost as much as it shits on us so they at least know our plight. Though I've said it before, you'd do well to handle them with finesse. I understand that you've a reputation to uphold but it does us no good to have newly turned wolves who won't join the pack out of hatred. Need I remind you, we lost Lupin to the Order because of your reputation and he's not the only one."

Fenrir crouched down to the little girl's level and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Somebody is feeling grouchy this morning." He picked her up and turned to Rafe, "You should run with us this full moon. There's more than enough targets and it's been years since we've run together under the moon." They walked from the sitting room to the porch. Rafe looked across the farm, "I can't. My sons, Caleb and Felan are too young and Tasha is eight months pregnant. I'm potion bound until I know my family is safe."

Fenrir grumbled about how Tasha and the kids sucked the fun out of everything.

Rafe looked out at the farm from his porch. A massive garden stretched to the right of the house growing everything from salad greens and veggies to fruits and berries. A complex of cabins were nestled into a ring of trees as thick forest stretched to the road miles away. The weather was warm and soft. Several men and women worked in the garden, gathering ripe tomatoes and greens. Around the corner of the porch children were playing a small pick-up game of quidditch in a miniature village square formed by the small cottages. The whole complex housed about fifty weres.

A small boy ran full tilt into his father's knees. Rafe looked down at the shaggy sandy blond mop of hair that obscured his son, Caleb's face. The little boy, who had wrapped himself around his father's legs, looked up and cried, "Whatever Felan says I didn't do it. He ate dirt of his own accord, I didn't dare him or anything." Across the yard Rafe saw his two year old son, Felan waddle out of the garden, dirt covering his face, look around for an adult and, after laying eyes on his father, crumpling his face into angry tears.

The toddler hurried toward his father yelling, "Daddy, Caleb made me eat dirt!" Caleb stared at him horrified, "Did not!" he then lowered his voice and hissed at his brother, "You're breaking kid code!"

Fenrir arched an eyebrow at Rafe across his bickering children who were taking swings at each other around his knees. "Well, I'll leave the girl and her letter to you but no matter what it says she's a Greyback not a Black. If pack proves anything it's that family isn't blood bound. You of all people should know that."


	5. Chapter 4: Owl Post

Chapter 4: Owl Post

Angela felt the strength pulse through her legs as she whipped through the trees at a full tilt sprint. She could feel the earth all the way from her bare feet to her gut. She scented the other younglings of her pack in the July heat as they joined her for their last sunset run as humans before the full moon. That night they'd be in the forest again but potion bound and in fur. Jacob Canagan, the youngest of them, at nine, crashed clumsily through the underbrush about a hundred feet behind her. This was the first run he'd ever been allowed on and he was a little overzealous about keeping up with the others despite his shorter legs. It was his turning moon so in truth it was his first and final skin run. Over the din of Jacob behind her she heard a twig snap off to her left and with a feral agility sprang into a large oak as Caleb Canagan, a 15-year-old boy with sandy hair in cargo shorts and nothing else leapt out of the bushes and landed in the spot that, seconds before, she had occupied.

He looked up at her, Angela had grown a great deal in the nine years she'd spent in the pack. She'd gone from a chubby baby to the lean wild haired nearly eleven year old that was perched on a tree limb. Her hair wafted around her tanned face in a wavy blue-black cloud studded with twigs and leaves. She stared down at him with large grey eyes like full moons over a constellation of freckles that stretched over her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. She had the beginnings of great beauty but she still carried the oddly disproportionate look of a gangly limbed foal.

"You're not supposed to be here," she snarled down at him. Caleb chuckled. He'd tattled on her about an owl she'd been hiding and she clearly had yet to forgive him. She'd even gone so far as banning him from the youngling run on pain of mauling.

He raised both hands in a pacifying gesture. "Mom sent me. She said that an owl's here with letters for you, Felan, and Reylyn. Looks official."

She eyed him warily for a moment then sprang lightly from the tree branch. She was a solid two heads shorter than he, small for her age. She craned her neck and let out a howl. Around them lean waifs emerged from the underbrush. The children ranged in age from Jacob, the youngest at nine to two or three tall lean boys who were about Caleb's age. She looked around at them, there were nearly twenty in all, searching out the faces of her fellow eleven year olds, Felan and Reylyn.

"Felan, Reylyn. We're wanted back at the house," she turned to one of the older boys, "Maccon, you're in charge." The tall dark hair boy stepped out and nodded. The others followed him as he disappeared into the woods.

The three boys and Angela fell into step as they began the four mile trudge back to camp.

Tasha Canagan gave her cauldron one final stir, it hung over a fire pit just outside of the tragic little two room shack that she, her husband, and four children called home. It had been three years since a band of aurors, in search of the Lestranges, had run the pack off Frostmoore farm and burned it to the ground. This little shanty town in the woods had been an emergency plan b. As she scooped the finished wolfsbane potion into a slew of conjured mugs, she looked out at the little village of tents and lean-tos that now housed her pack.

She carried a little flame of resentment for Rodolphus and Rabastan. She'd known that horror was in store when they'd appeared on the porch of her farmhouse breathless and covered in blood saying that the Dark Lord had fallen and Fenrir was dead. They begged for shelter and even after their patience with her children she and Rafe intended to leaving them in the cold but when little Angie ran to them with joy all over her face at her cousins' return she knew there was no avoiding it. They had to stay. They were the only blood family Angie had left. Greyback may have changed her last name but with him dead and the packs in turmoil, as far as Tasha was concerned that girl was a Black.

She finished ladling out the potion. She'd distribute the final dose at their pack meeting and midday meal. It was the turning ceremony for her youngest, Jacob, along with several other pack members children. Wolfsbane in hand, she was forcibly reminded of what made the pack families possible. When she was turned at eight, the St. Mungo's healers told her she would never be able to have children, that the change was too violent for her to carry a baby and when she married Rafe, they'd agreed that it was too dangerous to try. Up until wolfsbane was invented, the pack grew through kidnap and attacks. The only children in the pack had been stolen and so were filled with fear and hate.

Before wolfsbane there were no families in the packs, there were werewolf couples and occasionally the rare witch who'd marry a were but no children. Wolfsbane smoothed the shift and allowed the wolves to keep their minds under the full moon. It made everyone's lives easier. It even had a shocking side effect. She still remembered the day she'd told Rafe she was pregnant. She hadn't told him until she was four months in, until she managed to keep it for four shifts aided by wolfsbane. She didn't want to get him excited over nothing. She'd managed to keep a pregnancy for two months without the aid of wolfsbane only a year into their marriage and then she'd been foolish enough to to tell Rafe the second she knew. His eyes had gone wide. He'd been filled with hope and joy at the thought of being a father. Then she'd miscarried after the next full moon. They'd been devastated. This time she'd made sure and when their son Caleb was born it was gift to every were woman alive. It proved that their condition wouldn't stop them from having a family.

She looked over the shanty town. The pack was nothing but families now. Were couples had gotten married and settled down. Many had turned their children, when the time came. For the first time all the young wolves were related to the older wolves, not kidnapped from surrounding villages.

With a wave of her wand, a mug of Wolfsbane flew to each seat at the great table where the pack meeting would be held. She finally turned to the three fat envelopes resting conspicuously on a porch table. They were from Hogwarts. Her first instinct was to rip them apart. When she'd first seen the look in Caleb's eye, inexpressible hurt, she wanted to destroy any trace of those letters. The year Caleb turned eleven he spent every day of the summer pacing. He kept asking everyone in the pack if they'd seen any owls because he was expecting a letter. He'd presented signs of magic very early, when he was only eighteen months old. Tasha had seen the hope in Rafe's eyes when Caleb first picked up a stray kitten that wandered onto the farmhouse porch and turned it from ginger to periwinkle. Rafe had put on a brave face the summer Caleb should have received his Hogwarts letter but Tasha could see the hurt and disappointment in his eyes when he told Caleb that any son of his was too good for that school. Neither Fen nor Rafe had gone to Hogwarts. All their magic was won the hard way, through fights and relentless unaided study, not spoon fed to them by a teacher. Rafe had told Caleb that school was for those too stupid to learn things on their own.

At the time Rodolphus and Rabastan had been teaching Angie magic with a hand-me-down wand from some fallen comrade. They'd told her it was the best wand in the world and had belonged to a great and powerful man. Tasha was certain they'd just robbed a body. Rafe had put money aside for Caleb's school supplies and even when Hogwarts refused the boy, Rafe had doggedly bought his supplies anyway. He then informed the two interlopers that if they intended to stay with the pack they'd have to teach the pack children as well as their little cousin. In the years before their death they managed to bequeath a horrifying variety of dark and defensive spells. They taught them "with intent" by which they meant non-verbal. Almost all they wanted to teach were the kinds of spells duelists kept up their sleeves. No charms, no transfiguration, no potions. Watching the lessons, she couldn't help but think that Rodolphus and Rabastan were breeding warriors, silent and deadly.

Holding the Hogwarts letters, she could feel the time stretching between this moment and those lessons. Four years of hard living and hiding separated this August from those lessons. Four years, a fire, and Rodolphus and Rabastan's deaths. In that time Caleb had taken to teaching himself out of books he stole whenever the pack raided a wizarding village. He and Angie had taken to dueling to keep their skills up to the Lestranges' high standard of excellence.

As though called called by her thoughts, Caleb stalked out of the woods with Angie, his brother Felan, Reylyn Connor and the most palpably foul attitude that had ever wafted off an angsty teen. With a glower for the ages, he walked the three younger children to the porch before slouching over to one of vacant chairs by the empty cauldron. Angela cocked an eyebrow at this odd behavior but only received a harumph from the book Caleb had hidden behind. Angela turned to Tasha with the same cocked eyebrow. "Caleb said we had some official looking envelopes?"

Felan and Reylyn turned as one watching Tasha with hope on their faces. She smiled and produced three fat envelopes, Hogwarts crest clearly visible on each. Angie reached for her envelope with dumbfounded shock while the two boys on either side of her let out high pitched squeals and danced around the cauldron like the witches from Macbeth, Hogwarts letters clenched in their fists.

Tasha felt calm fall over the camp like a mist. She knew without having to look that Rafe was coming. She could feel his presence to her bones. He'd described it as a power of pack magic. When he united the packs under central leadership, he'd used an ancient blood magic ritual to make himself alpha. It gave him power over all the wolves in any allied packs. Tasha knew that he never used the power of alpha to the extent he could but she always wondered how much he could really do if he wanted.

Rafe strode up and planted a kiss on his wife's cheek. She smiled under his lips and said, "Rafe, Angie, Reylyn, and your son have something to show you." He gently wrapped Tasha in a hug and turned to see both boys still dancing around the cauldron. "What have you got for me boys?" he laughed. Both of them raced forward brandishing their Hogwarts letters. Rafe's face lit up like Las Vegas at night and soon he was dancing around with the boys. Tasha laughed, "Rafe, Angie got one too." The little girl squealed as Rafe whipped around, picking her up, and whisking her into the dance as well. His face fell slightly when he saw the book list but he perked up again saying, "We can get most of this second hand and we'll only need two wands instead of three 'cause Angie's already got one." Angie beamed. Tasha gently squeezed Rafe's arm and said, "We'll manage it." The children let out another jubilant whoop, and Tasha called Angie before she could lead the charge in news spreading. If the boys had anything to do with it, there wouldn't be a wolf in the tri-county area that didn't know about those letters.

Tasha gave Rafe a look and he went into their shack and started rummaging through their trunk. Tasha turned to Angela, "Now dear, your Uncles left you something that you were to get when your letter came." Rafe came out holding a small silver locket engraved with an ornate B. "They said it belonged to the most powerful witch they knew and that they thought only you could wear it with the pride she did." Angela took it from Rafe as though she was worried it would evaporate if not treated with respect. She quietly fastened it around her neck so that it rested a good five inches below her collar bone. Rafe gestured out to the camp, "Now, sweetheart, gather the pack for our afternoon meeting. I want to go over the Turning procedure again." And off she ran, preparing to overtake the boys despite Caleb's moody gaze.

The pack stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a circle that ringed the clearing. Tasha stoked the bonfire that illuminated the gathered Wolves. Rafe glanced at his watch, it was ten minutes till moonrise. Marcus Connor, Rafe's beta, led the turning group into the center of the circle. It was a big turning year with five pack children being turned. Rafe smiled at his youngest, Jacob, who'd sidled up next to the oldest of the turning group, Reylyn, Marcus's son. Next to them was a group of ten year olds, two girls and a boy.

Rafe spread his hands and all the whispered conversations died away. "We are gathered tonight to reaffirm the bonds of pack and to welcome five new members into our midst. We as Central Pack of the Julii, masters of all the United Packs of the Isles, unite in blood and kinship. Through bonds of blood we unite and are strong." A chorus of the wolves forming the outer circle chanted back, "Through the blood and through the pack we are strong" and linked hands forming closing the circle and leaving only Rafe and the children in the middle by the bonfire. Rafe pulled out a small ceremonial knife. "Jacob Canagan, step forth and face your alpha." The boy stepped forward and faced his father. Rafe and Jacob clasped right hands around the knife blade.

"Do you, Jacob Canagan, willingly and with no form of coercion wish to join with the Pack of the Julii?" Jacob answered, "I do." Rafe continued, "Do you, Jacob Canagan, swear to follow your alpha and submit to his or her wishes?" Again Jacob answered affirmatively. "Furthermore do you accept me, Rafe Canagan, as your alpha? And do you bind yourself to the pack of the Julii and to its alpha so that, through blood, we are all stronger?" Jacob answered once more with an "I do." In one swift motion Rafe pulled the knife from their clasped hands leaving a long slash in each palm, allowing the blood to mix. As the blood dripped from their clenched hands Rafe threw his head back and sang.

_Binda innan blóð, Binda við saman_

_Skuldalið byggva valdyr skinn_

_Ásamt blóð kveykva frjáls framan_

_Enda bani sœri brjóta einn_

The blood glowed and Rafe released Jacob's hand and said, "In blood we're bound, united as pack. Welcome Jacob Canagan of the Julii." The gathered wolves roared their approval. Rafe repeated the process calling forth first Reylyn then the other three in alphabetical order. By the time he finished with Ulcan Svennson, he could feel the electric prickle of the shift start through his skin. He pulled off his clothes and as the other wolves followed his example he told the children to hold out their left arms. He tells them not to fear because all the gathered wolves are on wolfsbane and even if the potion doesn't take, he, as alpha can protect them. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the flash of white fur that means that Angie has taken her Arctic Wolf form in preparation for moonrise.

The whole pack doubled over in pain as full moon crested the trees. The air was rent with the sounds of grinding bones and ripping muscle as the circle took their Wolf forms. Rafe feels the change rip his body, rearranging bones and muscles.

He stood before the children in his greyblack fur. He gently sank his teeth into the exposed left arms of each waiting child. The bite had to be deep, to ensure the curse took, but he wanted to be careful and not cause undue pain. Each child hissed in pain but didn't cry out, he was silently proud of their strength. Once he reached the end of the line, he rocked back on his haunches and howled. The answering howls of the pack filled the woods with an odd haunting symphony.

They took to the woods at an all out sprint, running through the woods as a pack. Off to his left he could see Angela's white streak with a taupe Caleb and Russet Felan hot on her tail. Had he been human, he'd have laughed. If she wasn't headed to Hogwarts, he'd have to watch his tail or he'd be kneeling to a new alpha.

**A/N: **_Sorry if the grammar or flow isn't up to par. I wanted to get this chapter out before I went on vacation and that means the editing process for this got cut a little short._

_The binding spell Rafe sang during the turning is one of my own creation. It's written in old Norse and translates roughly to "Bound in blood, bound together/Family wearing wolves skin/ Together blood lights freedoms leading forward/ Oath breakers end alone in death". I have no idea if the verbs are right I did it with a dictionary so, sorry if my old norse is a little rusty. _


	6. Chapter 5: Eavesdropping in a Joke Shop

_A/N: I have added a new story that works as a companion for this one. "Blood of the Lamb, Blood of the Beast" follows the story of Rafe and Tasha Canagan and Fenrir Greyback from when they were turned as children. If you like this story and the weres I hope you read "Blood of the Lamb, Blood of the Beast." Now onward with the tale. Link: .net/s/6251396/1/ _

Chapter 5: Eavesdropping in a Joke Shop

Angie awoke early. She did her very best to avoid stirring, she didn't want to awaken her brothers. She looked around the tiny room. The Canagan boys and Reylyn Conner slept on pallets scattered across the floor. She and the younger boys slept clumped together, head to foot. Caleb had started to separate himself from the group after his twelfth birthday. He now slept on the other side of their space. The little two room shack was a far cry from Frostmoore Heath Farm where the pack had lived until her sixth year. Angie missed Frostmoore greatly. She missed the wood floors, the kitchen, the garden and the halls. But more than the structure itself, Angie missed her Uncles even though the thought of them brought cold shiver of fear across her skin. To her eternal sadness the memory of her Uncles was forever tied to their deaths, haunted by the green eyed man.

She pushed the shiver way, she wouldn't let fear ruin this day. They were to get school supplies today and Angie would have her first foray into the larger wizarding world. For as long as she could remember she'd never met anyone who wasn't pack or family and the idea of an entire street of people with whom she did not share blood or pack bonds.

Angie could feel the excitement building somewhere around her navel and she turned to her side and saw Jacob's eyes peeking over Felan's back. He had shoved his fists in his mouth to keep from making any noise and was practically vibrating from excitement. Jacob was too young to really remember the farmhouse, he was only four when it'd burned down. He hadn't left the pack base camp since then. As far as Jacob was concerned, this little trip into the wizarding world was better than Christmas. He met her eyes and Angie gave him a little nod. He leapt from the bed and scampered from the room. She heard the tell-tale "oof" through the wall as Jacob pounced on his sleeping father crowing "Get Up Dad! We're going to Diagon Alley!". Felan groaned and rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head in a vain attempt to block out his younger brother's squeals of glee. Reylyn, who slept head to foot with Felan and Jacob, pulled the blanket over his face and kicked his bunkmate in the shoulder saying, "Felan, for the love of the gods, shut your brother up!"

Jacob came tearing into the room and crowing "We're going to Diagon Alley!" Caleb pegged him with a pillow without turning over and growled, "Not at five in the morning, you're not. Now shut up and go back to sleep."

In the other room Rafe rolled over and groaned, "Tasha, your son is awake dear." She arched an eyebrow at him, "He doesn't become my son until the sun rises. Before six am he's your son, darling." Rafe gave her a tired, pained look, "But you know I can't take them to Diagon Alley. I'm a wanted criminal, a known associate of Fenrir Greyback. I'm a dangerous man." Rafe's face lit with a mischievous smirk and crept up to his wife's cold shoulder and kissed it. "Just ask the Ministry, I'm a danger to society. I shouldn't even be allowed out of the house much less out of the bed." Tasha's attempt to feign sleep failed as she burst out laughing and rolled over to face her husband. "You're right," she chuckled as Rafe gave her puppy dog eyes, "you are clearly a danger to society" and rose to go deal with her quarreling offspring. Rafe gave her a sleepy smile, "Thank you." She yawned "you owe me" as a reply.

* * *

Tasha gathered her brood under her arms, doing a quick head count. Felan, Reylyn, Jacob and Angela, Caleb had flounced into the woods, petulantly refusing to join his siblings in their outing. She hoped for the best but, Tasha suspected that the teens mood would only darken as summer drew to a close. They grasped hands and apparated.

The motley crew materialized just inside the door of the Leaky Cauldron with a sharp crack. Tasha smiled at the wonder on her children's faces. She wished her first foray into wizarding britain had been so awestruck. Tasha's first trip to the Leaky had been in her early twenties, and she, Rafe, and Fen had been asked to leave. The new bar mistress, a pretty young woman with large warm eyes, gave her a welcoming smile. Tasha answered the barkeep's smile with one of her own and herded her brood out the back of the pub and into Diagon Alley.

* * *

Angela thought her eyes were going to fall out of her head. Everything was so brightly colored and alive. She'd been worried when Tasha brought them out of the pub to face a couple of mouldering trash bins but she'd simply prodded a couple of bricks with her wand and this brilliant world was revealed.

Store fronts glowed with warmth in shades of gold and red showing. Through the windows interesting trinkets glimmered and winked at her like hundreds of tiny eyes in vivid bottle greens, cerulean blues, ultramarines, and glowing violets. From the robe shop, glamorous silks and rich velvets cascaded across the window display. Some people on the street wore muggle clothes like Tasha but most wore wizard's robes like her Uncles. When she was small, she'd wondered aloud why wizards wore dresses even though they were boys. She still vividly remembered the beating her uncle Rodolphus had given her and the stern conversation he'd had with Rafe, who wore muggle jeans and t-shirts, that'd been heavy with words like "respect," "dirty muggles," and "setting a good example."

Angela allowed the gentle pressure of Tasha's hand on her shoulder to steer her away from the glittering fabric in the window display. She turned her attention, instead, to the people. They were an odd assortment that ranged in age from babes in arms to wizened old men with wispy tufts of hair like snowflakes. The people were almost as colorful as the window displays, glittering like gems in the morning sunlight. There were other children, younger than Jacob bouncing around sweets vendors, brandishing bronze and silver coins. A group of middle-aged wizards haggled over an odd looking plant that seemed to be a cross between a turnip and a bush and made soft purring noises. She smiled at Felan, who was just as wide eyed as her and whose grin now occupied the majority of his face.

Tasha had guided them to a rather shabby storefront. The name Ollivander's hung over the door and through the windows Angie could see only boxes. The inside of the store was dusty and apparently deserted. Tasha stood in front of the counter expectantly. Just as Angie and the boys had made up their mind to go wondering through the stacks of boxes, a stooped, whispy haired old man shuffled from behind a large pile. He wheezed up to the counter, regarding Tasha with over-large eyes, so pale that they were almost milky. Angie found herself wondering if the man was blind. "What may I do for you, Madame?"

Tasha smiled warmly at him, "Two of my boys are starting Hogwarts this year and they need wands." The old man's face lit up like a light house. The simple change completely transformed his demeanor. He straightened up and shuffled brightly toward one of the larger shelves in a way that can only be described as spry.

"What are your names young ones? I remember every wand I've ever sold, I probably sold your parents their wands." Felan grinned from ear to ear and stepped forward. "I'm Felan Canagan." The old man smiled and shook Felan's hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you young Master Canagan. I am called Ollivander. Might you be Rafe Canagan's son?" A momentary flash of worry flickered across Tasha's features but Felan plowed on unafraid. "Yes," he answered with a grin. Ollivander gave Tasha a reassuring nod and continued, "Well then young Master, I sold your father his first bought and paid for wand as well as your older brothers." He puttered around the piles letting his fingers flit over the boxes like birds until he his fingers landed on a box in the middle of the pile.

He neatly plucked the wand box out, "Hazel, Dragon Heartstring, 13 inches. This one's rather bendy. Go on young man, try it out." Felan gingerly plucked the wand out of its satin lined box and gave it a flick. It shot gold sparks and Ollivander smiled warmly, "Just like your father then," and Felan beamed at the complement. The older man then turned his attention to Reylyn, who'd surreptitiously edged behind Angie. Ollivander turned his milky gaze on the hiding boy, "And what's your name young master?" Reylyn looked to Angie and waited for her nod of approval before muttering, "Reylyn Connor" at his shoes. Ollivander nodded thoughtfully, "hm, Connor, Connor, would your father be Marcus or Nathaniel?" Reylyn's eyes got wide before he answered "Marcus" in a tone of awe. Ollivander smirked at the child's expression, "Yes I have a very long memory, don't I. I think I have just the wand for you."

Again, the old man floated off into the shelves and stacks of boxes and returned with a long thin package. "Holly, Unicorn tail hair, eleven inches. This one's rather stout. Go on, boy, give it a wave." Reylyn gave the wand a suspicious look before lifting it out of its satin lined container and neatly flicking it. To his utter horror the harmless flick sent a small pile of wand boxes flying. Reylyn gave the wand an accusatory look before cautiously setting it back in its satin habitat. Ollivander was shaking his head muttering, "No, no, that won't do at all." Finally he turned back to Reylyn. "What was your mother's name?" "Emma Ellison Connor" Reylyn answered.

At this Ollivander lit up again, "Such a lovely girl. I sold her her first wand when she was your age. I heard she passed away in the Second War." Reylyn just looked at his shoes and nodded. Ollivander put a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder, "She was a wonderful witch." He then turned to another pile and carefully extracted a second box. "Oak, Dragon Heartstring, eleven inches. This one's a good solid wand. Go ahead and give it a wave." Reylyn gave Ollivander a skeptical look but grabbed the wand anyway. He gave the wand a little flick and to his surprise gold sparks erupted from the tip. Reylyn let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and smiled.

Ollivander then turned his attention to Angela. "What about you, young lady? Are you starting Hogwarts in September?" Angela smiled broadly, "Yes sir." Ollivander shuffled toward the shelves "Well, then you'll be needing a wand too. What's your name? I bet one of your parents bought their wand here." Angie laughed. "I already have a wand, Mr. Ollivander." Angie pulled the wand her Uncles had given her out of an inner pocket of her jacket. Ollivander saw her wand and his brows immediately drew together. "May I see that please?" She gave him a wary look before turning it over to him.

Ollivander gingerly held the wand with the tips of his fingers, eyebrows still knit in a look of intense concentration. "Yew, phoenix feather, 13 1/2 inches." He looked up at her sharply, "Where did you get this?" "It was a gift," she answered evasively and made a grab for the wand. Ollivander caught her hand in an iron fist. "This wand was supposed to be destroyed along with the body of its master. Who gave this to you?" The man's angry intensity sent fear and adrenaline flickering across her skin and Angie struggled against his grasp. At this Tasha stepped in, "That's quite enough." Tasha's voice, though quiet, held enough power to stop a charging bull and it forced the old man to freeze in his tracks. "Now, Mr. Ollivander I intend to purchase two wands from you. How much will that cost? And for the gods' sakes, man look at yourself. Your accosting a child over a wand that may or may not have been important a decade ago. Get a hold on yourself. Your supposed to be an adult." At this Ollivander seemed to collect himself and relinquished the girls arm and the offending wand with a look of disgust on his face. "Get out," he spat. Tasha laughed cooly, "Don't be silly. How much do we owe you?" she asked and pulled out their little money purse.

Ollivander was physically shaking with barely contained rage. "You dirty creatures owe me more than you could ever pay, thanks to your master. How about two years of my life? or perhaps a remedy for two years worth of spell damage? Or maybe even some bloody justice? But no, you Death Eaters think gold will erase your crimes. It may work with the Ministry but it won't work with me, I haven't forgotten." He was yelling and Tasha let out a breath that sounded more like the growl of the wolf she was every month. "Give the wands back to the nice man, boys. We'll get your wands elsewhere." The children looked at each other. Angela was clutching her wand to her chest, her face a mixture of confusion and worry. Felan and Reylyn looked at each other, disappointment etched in every feature and held their new wands out.

Ollivander spat at them, "Keep them! Wands choose the wizard but I can't account for taste, besides they're dirty now."

Tasha drew herself up to her fullest height and donned the haughty expression she'd learned from years of dealing with pure-bloods. She gathered her children to her and shuffled them out onto the busy street.

* * *

Angie was laden with purchases. They'd gone through every second hand store on Diagon Alley before Tasha had pronounced them prepared for Hogwarts. Felan suddenly gasped, dropped his supplies and ran full tilt at an orange storefront. He pressed his nose to the window and stared. Under the gold legend Weasley's Wizard Wheezes a wide array of strange and interesting artifacts glittered and whirred appealingly. The four looked from the window to Tasha and back again. Jacob let his eyes go wide and a small pout crossed his lips. Tasha sighed, Jacob could put on a puppy dog face like no one else. "Mommy can we please go in? We don't have to get anything, we can just look around!" said Jacob. Suddenly Jacob's pleas were joined by a chorus of

please Mom please, can we?" from his brother and adopted siblings. Tasha rubbed her temples and chuckled. "Fine," she laughed, giving in to her children's wishes. Tasha dug twelve sickles out of the coin purse and split them up between her children, "alright, you get three sickles each. Use them wisely." The children gave four matching squeals and bolted into the shop.

Angie had never seen anything like it before. The store was packed with people, all examining the colorful boxes and talking animatedly. The shop echoed with pops and whizzes as miniature broomsticks zoomed overhead chasing little animals made out of sparks that danced across the ceiling and occasionally singed customers. Angie pressed her nose to a tank full of odd fluff balls in pastel colors. They looked like candy floss balls and they cooed like doves. When she looked around she realized she'd lost her brothers. They were somewhere in the brightly colored shelves. She wasn't worried she'd call them, eventually, and they'd come.

She skipped lightly down an isle lined with wands that would randomly turn into rats or plastic chickens and turned a corner to a wall lined with sweets. There was box after purple box of Skiving Snackboxes: Sweets to make you ill, a deep bin of yellow sweets that sent random puffs of fluffy butter colored feathers into the air, and a basket of metallic wrapped toffees designed to make the eaters tongue grow to horrible proportions. She heard a crack and looked up to find a spark creature cackle at before flitting away across the ceiling. Angie smirked and followed it through the store. She chased it past an entirely pink isle, along an isle lined with daydream boxes, and around another corner to a much more somber area of the store. Over the top of a rack of shielding cloaks she saw a shock of ginger hair and heard a voice that froze her blood.

"-are doing really well thanks. Teddy's staying with us while Andy's on vacation. After the fiasco with the Lestrange vault and all that Gringotts trouble she deserves a couple weeks to herself."

Angie felt adrenaline pump through her veins like ice water. The last time she heard that voice it had been yelling a killing curse at her uncles. It belonged to the green eyed man, the monster who stalked her nightmares. She pushed her way into the cloaks that separated her from the talking men. She needed to hide. She needed to be unseen. That's the last thing her uncle said to her, "stay hidden, no matter what" and that's what she would do.

The ginger man continued, "Yeah, you've got to feel bad for Madame Tonks. With that face of hers, looking like the darkest witch of the century, she's hard-pressed to convince anyone to let her at her sister's vault."

The green eyed man grunted an assent, "especially since the ministry's been itching to get their hands on that money. Since the goblins sent them the repair invoice for our heist damage two years ago the budget office hasn't had two knuts to rub together. I know Madame Tonks is pissed about losing the family gold but it'll go a long way in the Ministry."

"Speaking of the Ministry, has Mum told you about Bill? He's making a bid to be on the Committee for the Regulation Magical Creatures. Apparently, the goblins are going to try to push for wand rights. I just hope he doesn't get caught up in all that werewolf bullocks again, it's not healthy."

At this the green eyed man chimed in, "Yeah we raided a werewolf compound a few years back when we were hunting the Lestranges and it was pretty grisly. Did you hear, we're getting werewolves at Hogwarts this year?"

"Dirty beasts," spat the ginger, "I know you and Remus were friends, Harry, and I liked him too but I'm starting to think he was the exception to the rule."

"Come on George, they're just kids. Calling them all dirty beasts and assuming they'll be mini Greybacks is like assuming all purebloods are Death Eaters. Hell, even if they do hate wizards, Greyback stole kids all the time and brainwashed them to hate us. We finally get the chance to undo that damage."

"I can't believe Mcgonagall suckered you into teaching."

Harry chuckled, "Yeah, she got Hermione too. It's a temp gig. The Department for the control of Dark Creatures wanted Hogwarts to have at least one Auror on staff until they know how the whole werewolf thing will pan out. That and everyone reckons the Defense Against the Dark Arts job's still cursed. I'll be teacher number eight since the end of the war."

"What's Hermione doing?"

"Transfiguration. But Mcgonagall will have to find a new potions master soon, I saw Slughorn at the staff meeting last month and he's about two steps from going round the twist. Also Neville's now Professor Longbottom, Sprout retired. It's been quite the staffing overhaul. I think only Flitwick, Mcgonagall, Hagrid and Slughorn are left from the pre-war guard."

"Well, Harry, if their firing incompetent teachers you best watch your back."

Angie heard laughter and a thump. Then the ginger chortled, "Ow, okay, okay. Just don't pull a Moody, alright?"

Harry laughed again, "Like what get locked in my trunk for a year, show unforgivables to a classroom full of children, transfigure students, or turn in to a presumed dead Death Eater at the end of term?"

Angie heard a small voice cry "oooooh, mummy look, shield cloaks" and her hiding place was suddenly ripped open. On one side was a very surprised six year old and her rather dumpy mother, on the other, the two men who realized that their conversation hadn't been private. Just as the ginger man called George reached for her, Angie bolted.

She sprinted full tilt out of the shop and into the street. She collided sharply with Tasha's ribs.

"Oof," Tasha exhaled sharply, "there you are, Angie. We were getting worried. Did you get anything?"

Angie looked around and saw Felan playing with a whirring top while Reylyn and Jacob tossed a fanged frisbee back and forth. She shook her head, still to shell shocked to speak. The group grasped hands and apparated away.


End file.
